


Northern Stories

by whitachi



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:39:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitachi/pseuds/whitachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Paramina Rift, Larsa learns about the local wildlife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Northern Stories

Archades was no stranger to snow; each winter would bring enough storms and chill enough temperatures to keep the Imperial City beneath a few inches of white for a fortnight. In the time of Larsa's grandfather's rule, the senate had created a committee which put forth a resolution that there would be a task force that would see to the employment of civil workers in the shoveling of snow, assuring Archadian citizens of the aesthetic benefits of pristine white snow, without any of the dampened cuffs or foul-colored drifts in the gutters that might come from regular traffic. Thus, Larsa found himself ill-prepared for the storms of the Paramina Rift. 

They had made enough progress through the mountains that it was wiser to soldier forward than attempt to retrace their path. They trekked in single file, following the edge of a rock face to break the bite of the wind. Fran and her sharp eyes took the head, but she was far enough afront, and the snow swirled so heavily that Larsa could barely make out the tips of her ears. Balthier trailed behind her, with the Lady Ashe not far in step after. And Basch, in a kindness, stayed close enough to Larsa to act as shield against the wind, and to give him hefty footprints to walk the snow in without stumbling. 

Despite being chilled to the bone and wet to the ankles, Larsa could not keep a certain lightness out of his heart. It was as in the stories he had heard as a child, when his persistence had finally led Gabranth to tell him of Landis. In those times when there were no others but they two, he spoke of winters where the snow stayed through until the first buds of spring, of drifts of white as high as a man, and of monsters who lived in the long nights and desired only to frighten Landim children. 

Those memories alone were enough to keep him in good spirits through the storm, as was the thought of the poor Rabanastrans walking in path behind him; sandstorms and the rains of the Giza could do nothing to prepare them for such as this! Larsa turned to call out over his shoulder some teasing to Vaan--indignation would serve to warm the blood, and do him well in this weather. He had only begun to shape the first sound of Vaan's name when arms wrapped around him and lifted him bodily out of the path to come pressed back against a shallow alcove in the cliff's face. It was Basch's arm that held him fast back against him, and Basch's hand that covered his mouth. 

"Stay quiet," Basch whispered, harsh and hurried, into his ear. "Not a sound 'til I give word." Larsa nodded his understanding, and Basch let his hand fall to his chest, still holding him tight to his body. Larsa craned his head back as far as he could to seek explanation in that familiar face. Basch drew a finger to his own lips before outstretching that same arm to point out into the thick of the snow. 

Larsa strained his eyes against the white on white, but could not make out what Basch wished him to see. 'Twas nothing there, just snow upon snow... and then Larsa could _hear_ it, a rumble wrapped in a howl that sent a far colder ice into his very veins. He had been snowblind all the while, and this _thing_ , huge and round and a white so pure as to burn his eyes, hovered but a few paces away from them. It had nothing akin to eyes, nothing akin to _anything_ that Larsa knew, but he could still feel a passing gaze from it, cold enough to steal the breath from his lungs. 

Basch's hand stayed steady over his rushing heart, clutching him near, and Larsa held his breath until it had passed far from sight. 

"What... was it?" he asked when Basch had released him again, and given him sign with his eyes that it was safe to speak once more. The man flexed his hands against the cold, and Larsa could see the slightest of tremors within his fingers. 

" _Leshach_ ," he said, and it seemed for a moment that would be his only answer. Basch tilted his head up to the sky; the snow was thinning now. He kept his voice soft, low enough for only Larsa to hear. "One of many a punishment granted unto man from the gods. It seeks those who would make battle and bloodshed their life's heat, to freeze their rage e'er more." He let out a heavy breath and met Larsa's eyes. "But a word is enough to rouse its attention, and it will find the heart of war in the most peaceful of men and stop it fast." Larsa surely wore some wide-eyed expression on his face, for Basch smiled then, and placed a hand on Larsa's shoulder. "But it has passed, as all such things do, and we are safe now. Are you ready to carry on?" 

"Ye-- yes." As Larsa took up in Basch's footpaths again, he could only marvel at the resemblance. 


End file.
